


A soft weapon

by ulittuq



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don’t know if that’s how coal fires work but it’s abt the metaphor, Other Harry Potter Characters Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ulittuq/pseuds/ulittuq
Summary: At sixteen, Lily Evans slipped into the Hog’s Head for a meeting.Years later, her son would do the same.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	A soft weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Lily and harry are both very important people in each other’s lives but they got so little time together and I’m emo 
> 
> This was kinda inspired by a fic by dirgewithoutmusic (I think it was a sev redemption fic) where Dumbledore held recruitment meetings in the hog’s head and then I got to thinking how harry (Hermione really) did the same thing

At sixteen, Lily Evans slipped into the Hog’s Head for a meeting. 

The Dumbledore brothers may not have gotten along, but they had both seen war. War had been planned in the upstairs bedroom—the last one on the left—of their childhood home when Albus thought everyone was asleep and Gelert slipped through the open window. War had burst into their entryway and Arianna had died.

Abreforth opened his pub’s doors to war and Lily Evans slipped in. 

Years later, her son would do that same.

Years later, the only things Harry would know about his mother were pieces of her: her eyes, her hair, her bravery, her kindness. He would never know how stubborn she was, how she talked with her hands, how—in the height of summer—her skin freckled, how she melted all her cauldrons until Severus took pity on her. 

He would never know that, at sixteen, she slipped into the Hog’s Head to ready for war.

Lily had always been kind, but there was a reason she was in Gryffindor. There are different kinds of kindness and hers was loud. It was the kind of kindness that coupled with stubbornness to move worlds. The kind of kindness that didn’t have to be earned but could very easily be taken away. 

Lily was a thousand things and only one of them was kind. 

Lily was a coal-fire. She burned underground, in the cracks and gaps of the earth. She could just as easily burst forth and set the sky alight. 

Lily had kindness in her palms and curses tucked under her tongue. She was ready for war. 

She wasn’t. She was sixteen and scared. But she was brave, too, so she locked her knees to stop their trembling and pushed open the door of the Hog’s Head.

For all that Harry looked like James, he was his mother’s son. He shared his sweets with a boy he just met. He told Neville, “you’re worth twelve of Malfoy.” He gave his murderer another chance. 

Harry was a thousand things and one of them was kind. 

But just as Harry would only ever know parts of his mother, Lily would only ever know parts of her son. He had James’ hair and her eyes. His first word was “mummy.” He learned to fly a toy broomstick before he learned to run. She would never know of his kindness or his temper. She would never know his happiest memory and his worst fear centered around her. She would never know he grew up not knowing he was so, so loved.

Because at sixteen, Lily Evans slipped through a door into war and, five years later, war slipped through hers. 

At twenty-one, Lily Potter blazed.

At twenty-one, Lily Potter burnt out.

Here’s the thing about coal-fires: they can burn for decades in the cradle of the earth, feeding from seams of coal. But once they breach the stone and reach the open sky, they burn out. 

Lily burned and her son lived.

Harry Potter never slipped through a door into war. War followed him, nipping at his heels. War sunk its teeth into him and shook him in its jaws. 

Harry never opened the door to war, but, at fifteen, he did open the door to the Hog’s Head. He taught children to prepare for war.

He was a child, too, but he knew war did not care for age. He had been fighting for years and he survived.

He was teaching children to survive. 

These children would answer his call when war burst into their school. Not all of them would survive. Some of them would lay cold and still on the floor of the Great Hall. But some of them would be saved by what he taught them.

At fifteen, Harry would prepare children for war and, at seventeen, Harry would die for them. 

In a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, Voldemort would stare into blazing green eyes and he will not have learned.

In a white train station, Dumbledore would call Harry a brave man. But for all Harry grew up too quickly with war on his heels, he was still seventeen. He was still a child. And it is not bravery that leads to sacrifice.

Dumbledore said Voldemort never understood the power of love, but maybe he didn’t, either. 

Lily understood love. It was given to her because she was beautiful, because she was kind, because she was bright. She gave it in return, easily—because she was a thousand things and loving was one of them.

And even as a shade brought back though stone, Lily knew her son understood love, too. 

Here is what Harry knew about his mother: she had red hair and green eyes, she was brave and kind. At twenty-one, her love was a fierce and blazing thing. 

Here is what Lily knew about her son: he had James’ hair and her eyes, his first word was “mummy,” he learned to fly before he learned to run. At seventeen, his love was a steady build electricity—ready to strike. 

Here’s the thing about lighting: they say it never strikes twice. That’s a myth. 

Harry would wake with his face pressed against the cool-pine needles of the forest floor. Voldemort would laugh, high and cruel, and a mother would crouch over him, murmuring, “my son—is he alive?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what I’m doing w verb tenses. I’m an eng major and I have no clue what grammar is and at this point I’m too afraid to ask


End file.
